Thursday's Child
by Ninon Sardou
Summary: Thursday's child has far to go. The SVU squad starts to investigate the almost-abduction of a little boy, and Benson finds herself drawn to the mother - a young woman who turned her past of child abuse into arts. But a faceless foe out there doesn't like how things go, and he's prepared to go even further than kidnapping...
1. Prologue

**THURSDAY'S CHILD**

_...has far to go_

* * *

_Summary: What seems to be an ordinary kidnapping attempt at first turns out to be far more eclectic when the SVU squad investigates the past of a young artist who became famous for publishing a tragic life story of abuse and drugs._

* * *

"No, no. Don't worry. I'll be back in time, I just want to pick up Hanson from school. Yeah, I know I could have send a babysitter, but… You know, ever since things got a little rough with Barry, I like to be on the safe side. He dropped a few comments about that he might just grab Hanson and leave. Sure, he just said it to make me upset, but ever since the divorce, I can't help but think he's capable of… Anyways, I'll drop off Hanson at my mother's in an hour, and we can meet the customer at five." Tucking a strain of her blonde hair behind her left ear, the woman sighed and crossed the next street corner.

Children dressed in their grey and dark blue school uniforms were running across the schoolyard. A young teacher with black ponytail was just trying to mend an argument between to young boys, and parents stopped their cars at the street to let their offspring get into the vehicle.

"He's supposed to wait for me in the schoolyard," the woman explained, continuing to speak into her cell phone. "But I can't see him." She looked around, searching for her son, and as she didn't spot him, her voice slightly trembled: "Maybe he's…"

"NO! NO! HELP ME!" A child's voice shrieked, and as she turned around, she saw how at the other side of the street, a man in a brown parka held a small boy in a tight grip and tried to pull him towards a white delivery truck.

"LET HIM GO!" she called and started running, but her left leather high heel gave way beneath her so that she collapsed onto her knee.

The little boy was lifted off his feet, and as he was carried away, he kicked into all directions. The man had by then put his hand over his mouth, and the child's screams had ceased.

"SOMEBODY HELP!" The woman screamed. "PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP!" As fast as she could, she struggled to get up again, and at the same time, a man came out of the pharmacy at the corner, just a few feet away from the crime scene. "THAT BOY IS BEING KIDNAPPED!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

The stranger from the pharmacy looked at her first, then realized what was going on and ran to the kidnapper, who was just about to open the side door of the truck.

"No, no!" the woman whispered to herself and sank back to her knees.


	2. Part 1

**PART 1**

* * *

"Mom, can we go home now?"

"In a minute, Hanson. I promise." Georgina Lewis put an arm around her son's shoulder and drew him into her lap. "I just need to tell the police officer what I saw, okay?"

"You mean how the bad man tried to take Elian?" The seven year old boy looked up at Detective Rollins and put his thumb into his mouth. Being at the police department, and seeing all these people in uniforms, and even "bad guys" in handcuffs was exciting, but also tiring for him.

Rollins smiled down at him briefly.

"Anyway," Georgina continued, "I had told Hanson to wait for me in the schoolyard where the teachers could see him. But when I came, he was still inside in the restroom – I didn't know that, though, so I looked around and saw the kidnapping. Or the almost-kidnapping. Well, it all happened pretty fast."

"Do you know the vic… Do you know the boy?"

"Elian Desmond? He's in Hanson's…"

"Is he all right?" another female voice interrupted her.

Rollins turned around and saw young woman standing there. Her hand clutched the strap of a satchel bag so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She was dressed in a tight black mini skirt and a turquoise leather jacket with a white top underneath that was sheer enough to reveal the lace pattern of her lilac bra. A hand with lilac-coloured finger nails run through her brunette pixie haircut. She was strikingly skinny – slender wrists, tiny waist, and a bony cleavage that made her appear much younger and more child-like than she probably was. Still, she couldn't be older than in her early twenties, Rollins guessed.

There was also something oddly familiar about her – the way her almost black eyes pierced into the detective's own…

"Elian? How is he? Where is he?" the girl asked again, leaning a little forward towards Rollins.

"You're his…"

"I'm Lola Desmond, Elian's mother," the stranger explained, her voice trembling impatiently now. "Now, can I see my son, please?"

"I wanted to finish my picture in arts class today, but I couldn't. I have to do it tomorrow, the teacher said." Elian blinked a few times, and watched Detective Benson with rounded eyes as she handed him a glass of milk. "Thank you," he said politely. He had overcome the first shock remarkably fast, and now calmly told Olivia about his day at school, stubbornly avoiding to mention how his day had ended, though.

"What did you draw, Elian?" Olivia asked. She was sitting on the colourful carpet with her little companion. It was a room they had particularly furnished for children with toys and child-sized chairs and tables. Elian, though, had chosen to sit on the carpet – not saying a word at first – and had started playing with a toy car in silence.

Olivia, however, had been able to make him talk easily, as she had started asking him idle question about his favourite games, or his family and friends at school. Quiet frequently, he demanded for his mother to come, though, and after a while, he grew slightly anxious again.

"I painted the sea. And birds. And parrots. My mommy likes them," he growled.

"Was your mommy supposed to pick you up from school?"

He shrugged.

"Doesn't she pick you up usually?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"Johnny."

"Who's Johnny?"

"Mommy's going to marry him. He's her financy."

"You mean fiancé?" Benson chuckled. "So you like Johnny, Elian?"

The little boy nodded enthusiastically, and the tension in his mimic muscles eased. "When he picks me up, we always go to the park or the movies or the mall first. And he always buys pizza or burgers. But my mom doesn't like that – she says it's not good for me. So we keep it a secret." As he grinned, he exposed a gap in between his front teeth.

"Elian!"

The boy jumped to his feet as he heard his name, and ran towards the young woman who had just opened the door.

"Mommy! Mommy!" he cried out. His mother knelt down and he fell into her arms, clinging to her tightly.

Rollins was standing in the doorframe, raising her eyebrows as Olivia's gaze met hers.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Elian's mother asked him as she held him at arm's length to check if any visible harm had been done to her son.

He started to cry and sob then, hugging his mom once more and she rubbed his trembling back. "Hush, it's okay. I'm here – nothing's gonna happen. I promise. I'm here. It's okay," she whispered to him. "I'm never going to let anything happen to you."

"Lola Desmond," Olivia repeated the name pensively.

"Rings a bell?" Rollins asked.

"Indeed, it does," the other detective admitted and sat down at her desk. The two women had decided to give mother and son some privacy, so Elian could calm down. "Her name has been on the New York Times' Bestseller List for several months now." She opened her laptop and tipped the name into her search engine. "She wrote – I quote – 'a provocative requiem to the abuse she endured as a child and young teenager, leaving her readers with a feeling in between nauseating humour and fascinating authenticity…' and so on and so on."

"So she's a writer?" Rollins asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she took a look at the laptop herself over her colleague's shoulder.

"Not only… She's also a model, one of Arthur Banckroft's favourite sources of inspirations," Olivia read on.

"Doesn't he usually photograph his "muses" at least half-naked?" As a response to Rollins' comment, a black and white picture appeared, showing a topless Lola Desmond who had turned her back to the beholder and looked over her shoulder with piercing, dark eyes. "How old is she?"

"I'm twenty-three." The girl in question had appeared in front of Olivia's desk, surveying the detective with a stern expression on her face. Elian was standing next to his mother, holding her hand. "Making me seventeen when I became a mother," she went on. "If you want to know anything about me, you can also ask."

"We're sorry," Olivia replied calmly.

"Elian," Amanda said, "Why don't we go and play for a little longer, so your mom and Detective Benson can talk?"

The boy looked up at his mother for reassurance, and she smiled down at him. "It'll be just a minute, champ, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed hesitantly.

"Take a seat," Olivia offered.

"Thanks." Lola didn't follow the invitation, though, but remained standing and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "So, you bother to tell me who tried to kidnap my son?"

"That's a question we have to find the answer to together. A passer-by managed to free your son from out of the kidnapper's arms, but the man escaped in his van. We have the license number of the car. The vehicle has been reported stolen in Manhattan a week ago." She eyed the young woman with suspicion, not being able foretell Lola's reaction to the news.

"So he's still out there? Where's the man who saved Elian?"

"He's just helping us creating a sketch of the kidnapper. He said it was a middle-aged man, might be Hispanic."

Lola bit her bottom lip and nodded slowly. "Okay. What are you going to do then?"

"Did you notice anything lately? Someone following you or Elian? Something unusual?"

"No. Nothing."

"Is there anyone you can think of who would…"

"Of course!" She rolled her eyes and eventually sat down. "Of course there is! I get crazy fan mail all the time. People who want to meet me and want to do things with me I'm too shy to mention – and I'm someone who posed naked when she was only fourteen. Last week, someone send me an e-mail, writing about how cute my son was, and describing with very plastic details how he'd like to make me another one. But nothing seriously ever happened, and none of these perverted jerks ever threatened my son personally. If they did, I wouldn't have let him out of sight for only a minute, I swear!"

"Do you pick him up from school usually?"

"Of course I do! Or I take care someone else does. Johnny, my boyfriend, was supposed to get him today. I don't know why he didn't show up. I've already tried to call him, but he hasn't answered yet." She sighed deeply. "And before you ask: Yes, he's reliable, he has never let me down with Elian before."

"What about Elian's father?" Olivia went on, ignoring the slightly aggressive attitude of the young mother.

"Didn't my _wikipedia_ article reveal that scandalous fact?" Lola snapped, crossing her legs and arms in synchronism. "His father was Seth Polanszki – or Seth J. as he is known to some people."

"The rock star?" Olivia raised her eyebrows. The man had been vaguely familiar to her since the teenaged daughter of a domestic-violence victim had fancied the man and talked about almost nothing else to Olivia. But that had been years ago! How am I able to remember such minor facts, she wondered for a moment.

"I wouldn't call him a star exactly – maybe he would have been today if he hadn't died of an overdose four years ago. But he decided to blow away his mind," Lola stated coldly. "We met at a crappy youth facility in Frisco when he was fifteen and I was thirteen. He always had a melody in his head, and I did the texting. When he went to New York, he asked me to come, too, and be his songwriter. A few of the songs I wrote for him caught the attention of a journalist, and he offered me to publish short stories on his blog. The stories kind of hit a nerve or something… And that's how I became an author."

"That is impressive," Olivia said genuinely.

Lola shrugged. "It's just… The only thing I was always good at, you know."

"Writing?"

"Crashing conventions. Doing what everyone else is afraid of – saying things no one wants to admit to himself. It's probably because I have learned early in my life that my dignity is worth nothing if I don't earn it myself." She gazed directly into Olivia's eyes as she finished the sentence, and the look made the detective's stomach feel cold as ice for a few seconds.

"What about your boyfriend? Does he get along with Elian?"

"He _adores_ Elian. I know this is probably what all the beaten-down single mothers say about their relationships, too… But I think Johnny loves Elian as if he were his own child."

"You t_hink_?"

"Well, my dad was a drug-addicted jerk who didn't give a damn about me – and Elian's biological father was so self-absorbed that there was no space for a child in his life either. I don't have a very clear idea of how a functional father-child-relationship should be, so I can only speculate… But Johnny loves Elian, and he takes very good care of him. Besides, I would never let anyone into my son's life if I weren't a hundred percent sure that person wouldn't do him any harm."

Olivia believed her. The way Lola clenched her hands into fists as she spoke of protecting her child, how her backbone straightened that moment - like a lioness about to jump at the enemy – and how she met Olivia's gaze directly… All these tiny gestures told the detective all she needed to see that the younger woman honestly meant what she said.

"I can't help you right now," Lola eventually said. "There is no one in particular whom I can think of… who might want to hurt Elian and me."

"I need these e-mails and fan letters you mentioned," Olivia went on.

"Of course."

"But I think you should take Elian home now. It's been a hard day."

Lola chuckled drily as she got up. "It's been _hell_…"


	3. Part 2

**Part 2**

* * *

In her career and in her personal history, Olivia had learned a lot about facing violence, living with violence, overcoming violence. Hurt, abuse, loneliness and fear. And a lot more. People were shaped and even almost fully created by these things. Like Athena, the Greek goddess, born out of the foam of the ocean, people stepped out of a horrid, insecure world as grown-up newborns. To them, normality and safety was unknown territory – and therefore, it was insecure, too.

Obviously, Lola Desmond's way of living on – living anew – was writing about it all. Letting it out on paper before her thoughts got berserk within her mind and could destroy her.

Olivia did some online research, and when she tipped in Seth J.'s name, a dozen music videos were offered to her, the first ten being various live performances of a song called "Mattie".

_Along the lines and in between,  
He saw all that has never been.  
His blood on the floor like the milk Anna spilled,  
And a smack and a cry, but too strong-willed._

The refrain of the song remained in Olivia's head even after she had turned it off again. Lola had indeed created the lyrics. The songs she had written for Seth were intonated short stories, most of them centred around recurring characters: Mattie, for example, who grew up with his mother, his sister Anna, and his abusive stepfather, and ran away at the age of twelve to end up as a hooker.

_Night after day, and day after night,  
That's how everyone's life goes by.  
Mattie didn't know any better,  
What is the matter? What is the matter?  
Screw me once, and screw me twice,  
Just pay the price.  
(Ten for a blow job, twenty for…)_

"Not quite my kind of music."

Olivia startled, and as she raised her head above the screen of her computer, Jon Munch shot her a brief smile.

"That sends shivers down my spine," her colleague went on. "I prefer Vivaldi."

"The kid who wrote these songs is the mother of a boy who got almost abducted," she explained. "Lola Desmond."

"The author?"

"You know her?"

"I've read her books. That kid is either brilliant at handling horrific abuse, or totally screwed up with a twisted imagination. She claims she's the first, and she's cute enough that people believe her," he stated drily.

"She's also a young mother who's now afraid for her child's safety."

"Well, the media doesn't show much of that side of hers," Munch stepped behind Olivia. "Check out Gerald's Gossip Blog."

"You're reading that trash?" Olivia had to laugh, but Munch remained serious.

"Lola is a favourite topic of Gerald's since he watched her starring in a soft-port that was labelled as "provocative arts". He voted her hottest chick last month, but she prefers to be called an _enfant terrible_."

"Seriously?" Olivia tried to compare that picture with the young woman she had met earlier that day, and didn't know if these images fit together or not.

"She's engaged to Johnathan McQuaid – heir to "McQuay Financials", a company worth billions of dollars. Gerald likes to brag about how McQuay married another young heiress in Las Vegas two years ago. She annulled the weddings after she ended up in hospital two weeks in a row because he beat her up."

"I don't know what I'm shocked about the most: That Lola Desmond lets someone like that into her child's life, or that you know all about it."

"He's rich."

"Yeah, but she didn't seem like the type of woman…"

"Maybe because she's not a woman yet, Liv," Munch said, "Just because she has a child of her own doesn't mean is fully grown-up already."

"But her boyfriend being rich also has another aspect: Someone might have tried to kidnap Elian for ransom from his mom's fiancé. We should keep that in mind, too."

"Any tracks we can follow?"

"We have a sketch of the kidnapper." Olivia handed Munch the portrait of a middle-aged man with broad cheekbones and Hispanic features. "I had Amanda looking through our database, but none of the usual suspects matched our guy."

"So we're completely in the dark." Munch sighed. "Could be worse."

"How?"

"The kid could be gone."

True enough, Olivia thought.

* * *

On the way to Lola Desmond's apartment in Lower Manhattan, Olivia filled Nick in about the events of the previous day.

"So since we have no particular suspect, we suspect everyone," he concluded.

"Could be a crazy fan, could be about the boyfriend… Yeah, we follow everything we get." Olivia said, turning off the car's engine in front of a simple but decent-looking apartment building.

"Nice neighbourhood," Nick said.

"Yeah…" Ordinary, Olivia thought.

A man with tussled, reddish brown hair opened the door to the Desmond's apartment. His white button-down shirt was only half tucked into his dress pants, and he was barefoot.

"Yeah?" he seemed to be in a good mood, as the shadow of a smile was still lying over his lips.

"I'm Detective Benson, and this is my partner, Detective Amaro. We're here for…"

"I see. Lola already told me. You're here because of what happened yesterday." The expression on his face tightened, and he stepped aside so the detectives could enter the apartment.

"And you are…?" Olivia asked.

"Oh, excuse me. I'm Jonathan MyQuaid, Lola's fiancé," he introduced himself.

"Olivia!" Elian was sitting on the floor, surrounded by lego bricks. "Look, I'm building a police department!" Holding up what looked like a half-built house out of white, blue and green bricks, he smiled at her.

"That's great, sweetheart," she said and smiled, analyzing the apartment out of the corner of her eyes at the same time. The living room had a window front, presenting a pleasant view over the neighbourhood. Everything was tasty – dark wooden floor, white furniture – and tidy, though a little too mature for a twenty-three-year old. A few of Elian's toys – a racecourse with two little cars, a stuffed bunny and his lego bricks – were lying on the carpet as if they had just been played with.

From where she stood, Olivia could also take a glimpse into the kitchen, which appeared to be as clean, but on the counter, she spotted a bottle of what she believed to identify as scotch.

"I'll go get Lola – she has lain down for a nap," her boyfriend explained and went up the circular stairs.

"How are you doing?" Olivia asked the boy then, kneeling down next to him.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. "I don't know."

"What's wrong, darling?"

Chewing on his lips, he hesitantly answered: "What if the bad man comes back?"

"He won't, Elian. We're doing everything we can to get him, so you can't do anything again. Okay?"

"Okay." He nodded quickly, and a new smiled lighted up his face. "Mommy said the same things. But she's not police like you – she just write books and takes photos."

"Hey, buddy," McQuaid came down the stairs again, "Why don't you go up and watch a few cartoons in your mom's bedroom, huh? Isn't that show about the cowboys on now?"

"No," the child said stubbornly. "You just wanna talk without me." He got up anyway, and McQuaid brushed over his head as the Elian passed him on his way up to the second floor.

"He's a clever kid. And tough as nails," McQuaid said, "He's got both from his mother, I guess. Well… Take a seat, detectives. You want something to drink?"

"Now, we're fine," Nick said, and he and Olivia sat down on the couch.

"Lola will be down in a minute, she hasn't slept all night."

"She told us you were supposed to pick up Elian yesterday, but didn't show up," Olivia went straight to the point.

"Yeah, that's something we should definitely talk about," McQuaid agreed, "We have to show you something." He walked over to one of the bookshelves and picked up a small item from the top. He handed it to Olivia.

"Lola's cell phone. She wrote me a text message at half past ten, asking me to meet Elian after school, and I answered, saying I'd do that. Thing is: I can't find my phone since yesterday morning, and I have neither received nor replied to her message."

"You think someone stole your phone and…?"

"Obviously," he said.

"Any clue who might have stolen your cell phone?"

"I had it with me when I had breakfast with a friend of mine – Ridge Hall. He's has an arts studio a few blocks east of Central Park. We ate at a diner nearby, and afterwards, the phone was gone. That was at about… nine o'clock."

"Detective Benson?"

For a moment, Olivia wasn't sure if the young woman standing at the bottom of the stairs was the same person she had met the day before – this girl looked haunted, more like prey than like hunting lioness.

Lola smiled briefly as Nick introduced himself, but her face turned into stone again. She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body and slowly sat down next to her boyfriend, almost like a sleepwalker, or as if she was moving underwater.

"I've already told them about my cell phone." Mc Quaid put his hand on her arm.

She nodded and closed her eyes for a few moments.

"We have a sketch of the kidnapper," Olivia said, not wanting to prolong this situation. Lola was obviously under a lot of strain – her hands balled in knots so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Nick handed the couple a copy of the sketch, and they both studied it in silence, while Olivia watched their reaction. McQuaid knitted his forehead, but then explained: "I don't think I've ever seen this man."

Lola remained silent, glancing down at the picture with a blank expression on her face. Her breath fastened, though, and Olivia noticed a slight shaking of the girl's hands.

"Do you know him?" the detective inquired.

"No," she said quickly, lifting her head so she could look straight into Olivia's eyes. "I've never seen him either." But the belligerent spark had returned to her, she looked more prepared and clarified now, much to the other woman's surprise. "Do you have any hint on the man's identity? His whereabouts? Do you have _anything?_"

"No," Olivia replied, "I fear not. Did Elian mention anything?"

"He doesn't want to talk about what happened. He's scared – as you can imagine."

"Of course," the detective ignored the accusation resonating in between Lola's words, and went on: "We have a very skilful psychiatrist who has a lot of experience with victims of such trauma, Dr Huong. It might help Elian if he talked to him."

"Yeah," McQuaid said, "that sounds like a good idea."

"Whatever…" The boy's mother, however, seemed to be less enthusiastic. "But what would help the most is if you get that man."

"We do everything we can." It took Olivia some effort to stay calm – but mainly because she could hardly bear the girl's suffering. Who wouldn't be devastated if someone was out there and wanted to hurt her child?

"Okay." Lola buried her face in her hands, and her boyfriend put a protective arm around her shoulder.


End file.
